Posted by anon on January 04, 2000 at 23:12
In Reply to: Wet & Messy Christmas posted by Val on January 04, 2000 at 10:58
What follows is a correctly spelt and grammaticised version of your post, registered at 10 58 on 040100. If you'd posted an e-mail address I would've sent it to you direct so that it wasn't portrayed on the board for all to see. However, you didn't and I haven't. I don't think that your reference to your daughters necessarily makes you a paedophile, and certainly not an incestuous, lesbian paedophile, which is what was inplied by VERN and Aaron. In the past, I've posted to this board in support of you, but now I'm not so sure. Anyway, here's my post as promised. Read it and try to learn from it.
"I've had mixed fortunes over the last fortnight, with my husband leaving (see previous mail) and a few wet accidents.
Christmas day was most enjoyable. The family, including my husband, went to my parents' home where we had, surprisingly, a lovely meal and lot of fun. I was caught short just before teatime and leaked a little before I could reach the toilet, but it wasn't too bad. I had wet thighs and had to change my tights and knickers, but it wasn't noticeable below my skirt, so nobody was any the wiser.
Boxing day was with my husband and the children went to his parents. In the circumstances, I didn't feel like going but, not wanting to deprive the children, I let them go while I stayed at home.
I was doing some ironing at about 10.00 when I caught my finger on the hot iron. In that split second, as I jerked my hand away, I think I tensed most of the muscles in my body, causing a short, sharp burst of urine to spurt into my knickers. As I wasn't wearing a panty-liner (I never do in the house unless we have visitors) it was just enough for me to drip onto the tiled kitchen floor between my feet, which were about 18 inches apart, leaving my legs and light brown tights seemingly dry. I lifted up my short, sky-blue skirt to survey the damage. Only my gusset and the lower front panel of my knickers were wet, which, having become transparent, revealed my pubic hair. I felt so turned on that I began to caress the inside of my thighs through my tights, before moving higher. I'm sure you can guess the rest.
I'd just changed into a short black skirt and sheer black tights when Karla rang to ask if I fancied going to a restaurant for lunch. We met at about 1300 and had a lovely meal. Throughout the meal, I couldn't help noticing that two men (mid-20s) kept looking at me and especially at my legs. As we were about to leave, the better-looking one of the two came over and asked me out on a date. Well, I was ever so happy about this. It boosted my self-confidence no end. I'm going to meet him on Friday.
My husband moved out last Wednesday and went to his girlfriend's place. In many ways I'm upset but the marriage wasn't going anywhere and we were only together for the children.
I felt terrible on New Year's Eve. I had all the symptoms of 'flu' and spent the morning in bed. I'd promised to take the children to Castlefield in the evening to see some live bands and, more importantly for them, fireworks. By mid-afternoon I felt just as bad, so I called their father and explained things. He didn't want to know, but the children were so excited that I couldn't let them down and I knew I'd have to take them.
Well, we arrived there at about 2000. The place was packed and the toilet facilities were, to put it mildly, poor. By 2200 I badly needed a wee but I knew, even at that point, that I wouldn't be able to reach a toilet. I could hardly move and, even if I could reach the loos, the queue was horrifying. I was wearing a short black skirt, thick, black opaque tights and a coat which came down to just past (NOT passed) my knees. There was nothing else for it; I'd have to pee where I stood. I weighed up the options - pee with my legs open and it'd splash between my legs, or pee with my legs shut and it'd run down my legs. As it was raining and the ground was already wet, I decided that the latter (NOT later) was better as it would attract less attention. I stood there, feet together, looking straight and relaxed my muscles. Nothing. 'Typical,' I thought,'when I try to go, I can't.' For a few minutes I just stood there trying to act naturally, until I eventually started. Just a trickle at first but it soon became a steady stream, running down both legs and, unfortunately, into my shoes. I don't think anybody noticed. For a few minutes my legs were lovely and warm, but they soon became cold.
Just twenty minutes later my daughters said they needed the toilet, and I told them to go in their knickers. 'What? Like you do, mummy' came the reply.
When the fireworks were over and having felt terrible all evening, I was glad to head off (NOT of) to the car at about 0030.
From this point you went into poop-land and I lost interest in your narrative. Wrong board.